


in your light that laughed

by Re_White



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Genderswap, Other, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-04
Updated: 2011-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-15 09:05:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Re_White/pseuds/Re_White
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The trick to sustained contact with someone as naturally inclined to shank you as Christopher Pike, is to maintain a campaign of total denial. So George gives him his most winsome smile, and just a *smidgen* of friendly smolder. "Hi, there." Christopher's brow creases with sincere grumpitude. "Die in a fire."</p>
            </blockquote>





	in your light that laughed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rubynye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/gifts).



When George finally gets down to Quarantine, Christopher is wearing his patented Mad as Hell Expression Number 4: What. Is. This. Fuckery?

Within thirty minutes of beaming back aboard the training vessel _Sylvia_ , Cadet Pike managed to make two geneticists cry, reduced one xeno-ecologist to flustered stuttering and sent Chief Medical Officer Boyce into what Winona described as "a fucking epic conniption fit", at which point her comm messages to him had devolved from regular variations on, "Yes, George, I'm fine, I have a penis now and it's bigger than yours, and I'm _fine_ ," to random texts consisting of nothing but little hearts and exclamation points.

George can't say he blames her. Watching Christopher be witheringly hostile to people is more or less their preferred method of passing an evening. Granted, some of Christopher's dry, soul-killing vitriol of the last few hours might be due to an uninvited onset of gender adjustment via alien flora, but really, George knows it's *mostly* just Pike being Pike, only _louder_ and that's the sort of awesome spectacle that would wreck anyone's grammar.

On the other side of the brightly lit containment chamber Christopher gives him the crazy eyes and radiates eight kinds of homicidal intent. Other people would be deterred by that, but George Kirk is immune to pox, snake bites and the frowny faces of genius psychopaths (he did after all, manage to marry one). The trick to sustained contact with someone as naturally inclined to shank you as Christopher Pike, is to maintain a campaign of total denial.

So George gives him his most winsome smile, and just a *smidgen* of friendly smolder. "Hi, there."

Christopher's brow creases with sincere grumpitude. "Die in a fire."

The apples of his cheeks are more pronounced, but his mouth is no more generous than it was a gender ago. He's still lean, and narrow - made of angles and planes and lonely shadows abated not at all by the strange new roundness of his hips (George thinks his fingers would fit that new curvature, thinks he'd like to measure it with his tongue or watch it be scaled by the wet wicked slide of Winona's mouth).

His wife is in a lazy half-slouch against the wall, one hand splayed low on her belly, the tip of her tongue drawing sleepy across her square white teeth, a hungry, speculative look on her face. The sight of her makes his breath catch a little. Beyond the hard, handsome cut of her jaw and the inviting line of her broadened shoulders, it's her hands - wider and longer - that shake him up with a sudden rush of excited warmth. George's insides go shivery and electric at the thought of them on him, *in* him.

It's a universes' worth of unfair cruelty that the cool, opaque wall of the containment chamber is between them, and _staying_ that way until everyone's chromosomes are back where they should be.

"How you holding up, sweetheart?" If his voice is a little rougher around the edges, well - Christopher won't tell on him.

He's staring too, with that slightly panicked, vaguely amazed, wide-eyed look he sometimes gets when he realizes he has a place here between them and doesn't know what he did to get it.

Winona sidles slowly towards him and George can see Christopher go all flush and dark for the purpose in her outstretched hand, for the deeds yet undone in the curve of her mouth, wet and pink with promise. For a brief moment Christopher's face goes all soft and startled around the edges, the way it always does when one of them first touches him, like maybe he's been hungry for so long that he doesn't know what do with bounties - big or small - placed in front of him.

When she draws in close enough, both hands settled on the sharp jut of his hips, Winona breathes softly against his parted lips, and George has to twist his fingers into the fabric of his uniform slacks to keep from grabbing himself.

It's a new kiss, equal parts eager and hesitant with half familiar touches and stuttering discovery. When it grows urgent Winona bucks once into the cradle of Christopher's parted legs. He moans and George and Winona both go shock still for it, because it's not as if Christopher is *silent*, it's just that he sure as hell isn't loud and *that* was -

"Fuck. Win, you gotta - -" Do that again, he thinks stupidly, needlessly, because Winona's one step ahead, like she always is, thank christ - and when she rolls her hips this time it's surer, harder and Christopher's head falls back, throat bared and mouth open to Winona's low, delighted laugh.

George presses his hand to the glass and sighs once around the heavy throb of his heart, determined to memorize **everything**.


End file.
